


Spill The Beans

by MobiAblackout



Category: Men's Football RPF
Genre: Drunk Sex, M/M, Realistic, a trip to vegas
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-12
Updated: 2019-04-12
Packaged: 2020-01-12 03:31:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,454
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18438152
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MobiAblackout/pseuds/MobiAblackout
Summary: He told Jesse about Tumblr, about the weird girls. All of it except the part about him reading the stories, except the part about how he saved dozens of pictures of Jarcus, except the part about he wished there were more stories about them, except he wished they were more popular than Eric and Dele and it making him want to throw up. He doesn’t tell him I’m sorry, or I like the way you look at me, or I like your stupid face. He doesn’t tell him that hey, I’m kind of obsessed with you too.





	Spill The Beans

**Author's Note:**

> a gift to anyone who loves Jarcus.

Jesse knows what the fuck Tumblr is but he doesn’t know why Tumblr girls are weird. He hadn’t paid attention to what was Marcus rambling about, way too into watching the match instead. Whatever he was looking at on his phone with wide eyes made Marcus squirm, turned his cheeks a little pink and that’s all Jesse could think about when Marcus turned towards him. Jesse had no fucking idea what Marcus was going to say.

 

“Fucking Tumblr girls. It’s fucking weird, man,” Marcus said with that color in his cheeks, looked right at Jesse. “What the fuck are you looking at, Lingard?”

 

Jesse had no idea what was going on.

 

 

He asked Paul what the fuck Marcus’ problem was. Paul said that Jesse was probably Marcus’ problem. And wasn’t that always the way of it.

 

 

Not until Marcus called him on it, up in their hotel room, after a tiring game against Liverpool. Marcus was irritable, more than usual, and Jesse asked him what the fuck his problem was. Marcus pushed him - one hard shove and then another, asked him why he cared, and could he please just fucking get out of his face, and stop fucking staring at him all the time. Jesse was confused at first, tried to shrug it off, but something in Marcus’ tone made something in him hurt and so he just stopped.

 

He let Marcus push him, never let anyone but Marcus push him. He always stands up for Marcus when he’s being pushed on the pitch even when he is much more smaller than other players, but if Marcus wants to push him he let him. Paul stepped in between them without a word. Marcus was out, another door slammed, and Jesse wondered when it started to feel like Marcus was always running away from him. Paul did that thing, where he explains shit to Jesse, because goddamn it, Jesse can’t ever get out of his own head.

 

“You can be a little intense,” was what Paul told him, and Jesse still didn’t really understand but he nodded anyway. Paul understood. Paul always understood. He didn’t ask Jesse where he was going when he made his way to the door, rolling his shoulders and shaking all that nervous energy right out of his fingers like he was itching for a fight. Another night Paul might have let him leave without comment, but Jesse stopped at the door and looked at Paul. He wanted to understand.

 

“You’re obsessed with him, Jesse,” Paul said quietly.

 

Jesse began to understand.

 

 

 

Over a cheat day burger and beer, Marcus asked Jesse if he really dug Instagram models. Jesse shrugged his shoulders noncommittally, not really an answer but instead asked him about Tumblr and weird girls and if he needed to get laid, because ugh he’d been such a bastard lately. Marcus threw him a look, and definitely wished that Paul was there to diffuse this one.

 

“Come on, Rashy. Tell me about the weird girls, you know you wanna. Weird is kinda my thing,” Jesse said, smiling around a mouth full of french fries.

 

Sometimes Marcus couldn’t believe how ridiculous Jesse was.

 

He told Jesse about Tumblr. He told Jesse about the weird girls. About all of it. All of it except the part about him reading the stories. All of it except the part about how he saved dozens of pictures of Jarcus. All of it except the part about he wished there were more stories about them, except he wished they were more popular than Eric and Dele and it making him want to throw up. He doesn’t tell Jesse I’m sorry, or I like the way you look at me, or I like your stupid face. He doesn’t tell him that hey, I’m kind of obsessed with you too.

 

 

He fell down the rabbit hole. Pictures and stories and these girls with these ideas about Marcus. About Jesse. About Marcus and Jesse.

 

He wondered how they’d gotten inside his head.

 

 

Marcus had wanted his own room that night and Marcus could be a bastard, and he almost always got what he wanted. He’s the golden boy after all.

 

So Jesse’s forced to room with Paul, Paul fell asleep earlier than usual, passed out during whatever dipshit movie they watching. Jesse finished it and half of another before he heard exactly why Marcus had wanted his own room that night.

 

Jesse thought Marcus sounded like a porn star or maybe a footballer, his sweet Rashy fucks like a porn star, the sound of the bed hitting against the wall over and over was ridiculously loud in Jesse’s ears.

 

Jesse didn’t get any sleep that night, fingered himself with the rhythm of the only sound was in his head.

 

 

 

Paul took Jesse out for a few the next nights after the training. He didn’t invite Marcus.

 

Jesse snuck into the ladies room with some girl that’d been eyeing him all night. She was cute, in an emo sort of way, with black skin and and curly hair, maybe too young for him. He fucked her up against the sink, and didn’t look at himself in the mirror when he ran his fingers through that stupid curly hair, and her amazing fit body. He closed his eyes, didn’t tell her she reminded him of someone, and bit his lip hard around a name that was definitely not hers.

 

Paul was waiting for Jesse at the end of the hall outside the bathroom because that’s what Paul did, being protective. Paul told him he wasn’t his babysitter, wasn’t there to clean up all of his messes or to keep an eye on a bathroom door while Jesse got off with some girl who looked - well. Paul left that part out, but Jesse had a smile that was sadder than Paul could ever remember seeing when he said that yeah, she kind of did look like Marcus, and they rode the rest of the way back to the hotel in silence.

 

 

 

Marcus didn’t even pretend to be asleep when they got back, started to bitch before the door was even closed.

 

Jesse laughed, buzzed and in some kind of crazy J Lingz mode. He started going on about 21 year old black girls and curly hair and Paul coming to his rescue like some sort of Superman.

 

Paul told Jesse to stop, told Marcus to shut the hell up and go to bed.

 

“Don’t tell me to shut the hell up, Paul. I have to get up in like four hours, and I can’t even deal with his shit. Why don’t you ever tell him to shut the hell up?” Marcus wasn’t even trying not to yell, and Paul told him again to just shut the hell up already.

 

“Beans, calm down,” Jesse said, cocky while he stripped off his jacket and threw it at the end of Marcus’ bed. “I get it. You’re mad because we didn’t invite you. Jealous or whatever. I just figured, like - well - we went out for some pussy, you know how it is.”

 

“Jesse,” Paul warned, because Jesse could run his mouth even without the booze, and then Marcus was on his feet, up in Jesse’s face, telling him he was a vulgar piece of shit.

 

“Pretty fine piece of ass, too,” Jesse went on. “You probably would’ve liked her, but I figured maybe you got your fill the other night.” Jesse jumped up on the bed he crawled across it and knocked on the wall. “Walls are thin Marcus, what can I say? Thin as fuck.” Marcus roled his eyes. “Anyway,” Jesse crawled back down the bed. “She liked some of that same stupid music as you, Rashy. She was same age as you, Beans,”

 

 

“So you fuck random girls in bar bathrooms now?” Marcus asked Jesse in a low voice on the way out of the locker room and towards the parking lot. They hadn’t spoken for days.

 

“So you fuck random girls in the room next to my head?” Jesse answered, and he laughed because the sentence had sounded better in his head, and because Marcus laughed, and because he knew without looking at him that Paul was shaking his head, taking it all in. “Sounded like a god damn porn star,” Jesse told him.

 

“I could probably teach you,” Marcus leaned in close behind Jesse, spoke real quiet, and Jesse stilled.

 

“To sound like a porn star?” Jesse asked.

 

“How to get in my pants,” Marcus told him.

 

 

 

 

They dropped Paul off at the airport after the next game, sent him on his way to go and see his family in France for a few days. “A few days off will be good for all of us,” Paul said to both of them as they pulled up to the drop off. Jesse stretched his arms up to the roof of his truck and groaned obscenely, something about strippers and sleeping for days and Paul laughed, turned around to tell Marcus not to let Jesse get into too much trouble. Marcus was trying hard to ignore the warning in Paul’s voice, to ignore Jesse and his moaning and his skin and his everything.

 

Jesse jumped out of the truck to hug Paul, and Marcus tried to remember if Jesse had ever touched him outside of a pitch, away from a camera or his phone. He wasn’t jealous of Paul. Not usually.

 

“Not too much trouble, baby boy,” Paul said to Jesse, and Paul knew that fuck or fight, these two were going to end bloody.

 

 

 

Jesse wasn’t sure why Marcus didn’t want to go home during their time off, he’s mama boy after all, so they decided to go to Vegas, Marcus wondered how Jesse might look like against sheets in a luxury hotel room in Vegas.

 

 

Marcus didn’t really drink, and he didn’t really go to strip clubs, but he was stupid, sloppy drunk in one, in a dark corner with a lap full of half-naked stripper that Jesse had paid for. His hands were balled into fists by his sides and she rolled her hips against his, slow and steady and over and over, to the beat of some song he’d never heard before. Jesse was watching them, couldn’t keep his eyes off of them, off of Marcus as he grabbed a couple of shots from the bar, downed one quick and made his way over to them.

 

He approached them, didn’t think about it first, put a hand on Marcus’s shoulder. He ran it up over the warm skin of Marcus’s neck, traced fingers down against his chest. Marcus closed his eyes. Jesse's hand ran down and palmed his cock and Marcus bit back a moan.

 

“Fuck, Marcus,” Jesse said out loud and he moved one hand to Marcus’s face, traced a thumb over his lips, told him to open his mouth and drink. Marcus opened his eyes then, opened his mouth at Jesse’s command, touched his tongue to Jesse’s thumb before he poured the shot right down Marcus’s throat.

 

Jesse slowly, reluctantly let go of Marcus, walked away to steady himself up against the wall facing Marcus and the stripper. His thumb, where Marcus’s tongue had touched, was on fire, or maybe the whole world was on fire because he was hot, and his fingers burned where they had touched Marcus.

 

Marcus’ eyes never left Jesse. Jesse wanted to push that girl right off of Marcus’ lap.

 

 

 

They made it back to their hotel room, thanks to one of the girls getting off shift. She took pity on him, it’s what she told Marcus, and he wasn’t sure if she meant him or Jesse but it didn’t matter because Jesse leaned against him in the back seat of her car and honest to god giggled. Marcus wanted to ask him if he could curl up in a ball and live inside his heart, so instead said nothing at all.

 

 

 

Jesse was down on his knees pressing his nose up against Marcus like some sort of animal. Marcus thought maybe he had said that out loud because he looked up at him then and mouthed right over him, through denim, filthy and hot and perfect and fuck, he probably said that out loud too.

 

Jesse leaned back and looked up at Marcus like he was hungry, worked on opening those jeans.

 

He traced his thumb over Jesse’s plump lips, and he licked. Marcus cursed, long and drawn out, told Jesse he’d always looked so fucking good on his knees.

 

He wasn’t going to last long, not with Jesse moaning, greedy and sloppy around him and so he tugged harder on his hair, told him with stuttered breath that he was going to come and then Jesse took him all the way down with a god damn shudder and Marcus was wrecked.

 

Marcus slid to the floor, his brain a fucking mess of words he wanted to say and his heart threatening to beat right on out of his chest. Jesse made a noise, a kind of a laugh that comes when you’re drunk, and when the universe gives you this thing that you wanted that you weren’t sure you’d get.

 

Marcus pulled Jesse up on his lap, leaned in to lick at his mouth and taste himself there, to feel the stutter of breath when Marcus finally worked his way inside the skinniest jeans ever.

 

Jesse moaned his name right against his lips when he came. It was the most gorgeous thing Marcus had ever seen. He said that out loud too.

 

 

 

Jesse woke up in his ridiculously big bed, half clothed and completely tangled up with Marcus. The room was kind of spinning and Marcus was warm and right there, and really something to look at. Jesse hadn’t been able to look recently, not since he realized the world could see right through him and so he looked, cataloged, memorized until Marcus’ sleepy morning voice startled him.

 

“I can hear you looking at me,” he said, quiet.

 

Jesse didn’t have a comeback in him. He just kept on looking, even after Marcus opened his eyes.

 

“I like it,” Marcus told him. “I always liked it.” Jesse watched Marcus until he closed his eyes again, until he couldn’t keep his own eyes open anymore.

 

He was so fucked.

 

 

The sun was lower in the sky, or maybe it was a different day. Marcus didn’t know, and he didn’t care. He knelt between Jesse’s thighs and teased him until he begged, then teased some more. He opened him up slowly, told him how good he was, how good he felt. He tried not to think about how perfectly they fit together.

**Author's Note:**

> had lots of feelings writing this.


End file.
